


Roses and Thrones

by bottledspirits



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:56:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottledspirits/pseuds/bottledspirits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There once was a sorcerer who lived all alone in a gloomy castle...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There were some stories that said only the kiss of royalty could break the darkest of curses. Other tales specified that it was pureness of heart that dissolved all enchantment. Still others attested that it was true love, and nothing else, that could fill the most evil of hearts with goodness and light.

This lack of consensus was very frustrating to those attempting to make a study of such things.

“It seems no one can agree on this business,” Rumplestiltskin said, shutting his book with a gentle thump. He set it down on a pile of tomes that sat on the table beside him. It was a curious collection; no two books were alike, and they all bore curious names like “A Facsimile of Truth” and “Modern Tales of Ancient Terrors”.

The room was dark and quiet, with only a weak, crackling fire across the room to disrupt the silence and put an edge to the shadows. There was one window, over which a long, purple curtain had been drawn, and, for added measure, tied down with a length of rope. Every other corner of the room was stuffed with books; they were crammed onto shelves, heaped on the floor, and stacked up under the little desk by the window, making it impossible for any to sit there.

Anyone else might have found it gloomy. For Rumplestiltskin, it was perfect for long hours of research and solemnities.

He took up a slim volume that bore the name “Märchen” in peeling gold letters. The book had an ethereal feeling to it, and he suspected that it did not come from this world at all. He knew the book-seller had sensed there was something special about it. She certainly charged him a pretty penny for it, even knowing who he was and the terrible reputation he commanded. The smug sneer on her face as he had handed over an entire spool of gold thread would have been worth turning her into a snail, if he had still done that sort of thing.

All the same, he had no expectations for the book as he began. It turned out like all the others: pretty little stories with beautifully absurd illustrations to match. When Rumplestiltskin reached the end of the book, he closed it and shook his head.

“I’m starting to think that none of them know what they’re talking about,” he said, his voice high and mocking. “I mean, a pea, really!”

Just then there was a knock at the door. It echoed through the chambers of the castle until it reached his dusty little sanctuary.

He sat up, despite himself. Few people came to this castle, and no one had the courtesy to  _knock_. Further, it was a miserable night; he could hear the rain pounding and the wind howling against the glass of the window. Who on earth would climb all the way to his castle on a night like this.

Rumplestiltskin grinned, showing all of his mossy teeth.

This might prove to be  _interesting_.


	2. Chapter 2

He enjoyed this part, really he did; the glamour and glory of throwing the great door open with a flourish, stepping onto the threshold, and standing like a king as whatever common thing –they were all common to him these days – looked up with fear dancing in their eyes as they made their plea.

They all wanted one thing: magic.

He was happy to give it, so long as they could pay the price. Something precious, something they could not live without, that was all he asked.

They did not know that he bought the magic with his soul; that every time someone came to him with such a request he plunged further into the darkness into which he had sequestered himself.

It was in thinking such things that he found himself in a rather odd humor. He walked toward the great door of the castle, wondering what could be waiting for him outside. What could they want from him? Wealth? That was a popular one. Power? The means to destroy the person they hated most?

He enjoyed this, he told himself, and he wrapped himself in the comforting thought that he was truly a monster, or else how would he be able to look at the miserable wretches who called upon his favor? To take their dreams and despair and fling at them a bit of magic for which they will always bear the burden of regret?

That was his purpose here, he told himself as he finally came to a stop. He was a monster, not a savior.

The door stood before him. He could hear the wind raging outside.

Rumplestiltskin bade the door open with the flick of a wrist.

Whatever he had imagined to be waiting outside, this was not it. He had played host to commoners and nobles, to deities and fallen kings, but this was truly unexpected.

He had never seen the like of this miserable, bedraggled thing that stood on his doorstep. A tiny thing – compared to him, anyway – dressed in a tattered, waterlogged travel cloak. Whoever it was must have been young; he could not otherwise account for the rash thinking that would have brought someone of such stature to his castle on a night like this.

Nonetheless, he had a role to play.

“And what can I do for you, dearie?” Rumplestiltskin asked, his voice curling smugly around the words as he drew his lips into a sneer.

A pair of thin, white hands slipped from the traveler’s cloak to draw back the hood. Beneath it were locks of long, dark hair, drenched and plastered against the head of the stranger. From a face as delicate and pale as a porcelain doll shone a pair of deep blue eyes that looked on him with no lack of apprehension, yet he did not see fear in her expression.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” she began, in a voice that was bright and clear despite the storm that swelled around them, “but your castle is the only shelter for miles, and I have traveled very far this day.”


End file.
